


(Don’t Waste Your Heart on) A Wild Thing

by devilinthedetails



Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Chivalry, Comfort, Defiance, Duty, F/M, Falconry, Friendship, Gen, Honor, Lessons, Loyalty, Mercy - Freeform, Nature, Pets, Romance, Tournaments, Worry, distraction, falcon - Freeform, stories, tamed, wild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 12:18:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13271310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilinthedetails/pseuds/devilinthedetails
Summary: Shinko and Roald talk tournaments and falcons.





	(Don’t Waste Your Heart on) A Wild Thing

(Don’t Waste Your Heart on) A Wild Thing

Gray fog—the cloying tendrils almost pearl white against the black nighttime sky—crept silent as a scout up from the banks of Lake Naxen and then became an army besieging Naxen castle, infiltrating its courtyards more quickly than any attacking soldiers could have. As she left the dinner in the great hall, a more intimate affair than a banquet but no less formal, Shinko was grateful for Roald’s steady arm beneath hers. 

Without him escorting her, she might have lost herself in the misty courtyard forever, never finding her way back to her chambers, but, as the Duke of Naxen was his great-uncle, Roald had visited Naxen castle often enough to navigate the premises blindfolded, which was the state, Shinko thought wryly, to which the fog had reduced visibility. 

“Didn’t you say that Naxen castle has never been captured?” Shinko asked, observing inwardly that an invading army could be swallowed by the mist off the large lake, which itself was a natural barrier expansive enough to place trebuchets and ballistas out of range on one side, making the castle easier to defend. 

“That’s what my great-uncle would tell me whenever I used to visit here during the summers when he’d take me up on the ramparts and explain how the lake prevented siege weapons from getting into range and made it difficult for an opposing army to find camping ground right outside the gates.” Roald was smiling reminiscently. Shinko could hear that even if she couldn’t see it. “Of course, His Grace might’ve been exaggerating for the sake of a little boy’s entertainment.” 

“I doubt he was exaggerating, Roald.” Shinko squeezed her betrothed’s wrist. “The fog alone explains why this castle never fell. An enemy could be lost in it forever.” 

“Now you’re exaggerating, Shinko.” Roald chuckled softly as Haname, until that moment a quiet and invisible in the shrouding mist chaperone behind them, emitted a cough that was meant to conceal amusement but didn’t from Shinko. “It’s not as if the fog were an ever-present force. The lake creates a wide that chases away the very fog it forms. Tomorrow could dawn crisp for the tournament.” 

“The tournament in which our friend Kel will joust against a seasoned knight.” Shinko’s mouth went dry as it had throughout dinner whenever she remembered what Yuki had told her about Kel being slated to tilt against a man who had been knighted longer than Shinko had been alive. Picturing in her mind’s eye the sharp lances that would be aimed at Kel’s chest the next day, Shinko shivered and tried to pretend that it was only the chill in the September air hours after the sun set that made her quake like rice pudding. 

Roald must have felt her shaking, and, if it had been any other man but him who had sensed her weakness, Shinko would’ve been humiliated. As it was, she was strengthened when he unbuckled the clasp of his cape and secured it snugly as possible about her shoulders. Since she was smaller and slimmer than him, the cape was so oversized that she felt as if she were swimming in it. Still, the cape was warm with Roald’s trapped body heat and that comforted her. 

“Don’t worry, dear.” From a man like Prince Eitaro, those words would’ve sounded condescending (the ever unspoken “don’t fret your little head about such matters or your pretty face will be ruined by wrinkles”) but from Roald they were sympathetic—sharing in Shinko’s suffering. “Kel will be fine. It’s Ansil of Groten who should be quivering in his armor. For his sake, I hope he’s seen a magistrate to draw up his will.” 

“You don’t know she’ll be fine, Roald.” Shinko didn’t find the mention of wills remotely reassuring because Lady Cythera, the smart social secretary Queen Thayet had graciously assigned to Shinko upon her arrival in Tortall, had revealed the ugly truth behind the tournament glamor: that there were deaths during these mock battles that could be all too real despite the presence of healers. The last thing Shinko wanted to think about the night before her friend jousted in a tournament was wills. “You just hope she’ll be.” 

“I do know she’ll be dine.” Roald patted Shinko’s hand. “She was trained in the noble art of tilting by the realm’s two best jousters. Tilting against Sir Ansil of Groten will seem a summer picnic compared to jousting saint Lord Raoul in practice.” 

“These tournaments maim and kill able-bodied warriors.” Shinko’s fingers clenched around her fan. “In the Yamani Islands, such a wasteful spectacle wouldn’t be celebrated as the pinnacle of honor.” 

She understood that Tortallans loved their courtly romances and chivalry—with knights challenging each other for slights against honor and kneeling to earn the favor of beautiful ladies in the stands—but to Shinko all the pageantry and poetry was folly. Lives shouldn’t be lost in the name of entertainment. 

Her tone was too sharp, she realized too late, but Roald answered mildly, “A very sensible practice. In Tortall, tournaments were the targets of criticism before the Immortals returned. Priests of the Black God decried what they termed the needless bloodshed at tournaments. To discourage knights from entering tournaments, they denied last rites and sacred burials to knights who died in tournaments, but for many knights, gold purses, the favors of pretty ladies, and the applause of an adoring crowd were more of a lure than incense and a cold grave. Once the Immortals reappeared, tournaments became widely embraced as a way to keep combat skills honed. Even the Black Gods didn’t condemn them.” 

“Kel’s fighting skills are honed well enough without tilting in tournaments.” Shinko shook her head although she was well-aware that Roald couldn’t see the gesture through the unabating mist. 

“You’re too concerned about a matter you’ve no control over, Shinko.” Roald laced his fingers through hers. “You need a distraction.” 

“I don’t want a distraction.” Shinko lifted her chin stubbornly and tried to tell herself that she couldn’t feel it shuddering, jarring her teeth. A proper lady should never contradict her betrothed, especially when he was consoling her, every well-bred instinct inside her screamed. Worse than that, she sounded sullen to her own ears, and men, she had been taught since childhood, didn’t wish to be whined at by sulky wives, who were supposed to be pillars of grace and poise amidst the pressures of the world. 

“Kel would want you to have a distraction.” Roald managed to reach through the fog to cup her chin with the hand that wasn’t hers, and it stopped trembling under his ginger touch. “She wouldn’t wish for you to worry about her.” 

“You’re right, of course.” Ducking her head, Shinko could feel her face flame like the burning lanterns released to beg blessings from departed ancestors and prayed to those same ancestors that her betrothed couldn’t feel the blazing testament to her shame. “Please distract me.” 

“You lit up like a candle talking to the lord and lady of Irimor—“ Roald referred to two of their dining companions that evening—“about falconry. I never knew that you were so fascinated by falconry.” 

“You never asked asked,” pointed out Shinko, tapping his wrist with her fan playfully. She could hear the delight in discovery in his voice and that brought the hint of a smile to her lips. They were still learning so much about one another that each new revelation felt like a small miracle. Shinko hoped they would never stop surprising on another with small miracles. She wanted them to learn everything about each other but still, paradoxically, have surprises and secrets. 

“Touche.” Roald laughed as he steered her into the mews. “There’s a special someone I’d like you to meet, dear.” 

“A special someone?” Shinko arched an eyebrow Yuki had spent a bell manicuring in preparation for being paraded before the throngs at the tournament. Flicking her fan, she shooed some of the stench of bird droppings that pervaded the mews away from her face. “Should I be jealous, Roald?” 

“She does have me in her talons often. Perhaps you should be.” Roald rifled through the bucket of spare leather falconry gloves on a table by the door into the mews. Finding the tiniest pair, he offered them to her with a bow. 

When Shinko slipped on the gloves, they sagged about her fingers. Glancing down at the floppy gloves, she murmured, “Fits like a glove.” 

“Matches your cape perfectly.” Roald’s eyes sparkled with mischief. 

“It’s not my cape,” Shinko reminded him, her own eyes crinkling in the equivalent of a giggle. “It’s yours, Roald.” 

“All I have is yours.” Roald kissed her fingers but the gallantry of this display was undercut by the fact that his mouth mainly brushed against floppy glove. “Therefore, the cape is yours, Shinko.” 

Before Shinko could devise a witty response, Roald noticed Haname, who had trailed rather reluctantly into the mews behind them, hadn’t chosen a pair of gloves. Picking up another small set of gloves, he extended them to her. “Would you care for gloves, my lady?” 

“Thank you but no, Your Highness.” In a stunning Eastern style gown, Haname curtsied. “That won’t be necessary. I don’t intend to pet any of the birds.” 

Haname, Shinko knew, had been wary of falcons and hawks ever since the birds of prey had swarmed her as a child—ripping at her hair with razor talons and pecking at her skin with beaks that could break bone. Though she was doing her valiant best to maintain her characteristic composure, Haname was unnerved to be standing before unending rows of cages filled with vicious talons and ruthless beaks. Shinko’s heart went out to her lady-in-waiting, but she was eager to see the prince’s promised distraction.

“As my lady wishes.” Roald inclined his head to Haname and then rummaged through the pail for gloves that would fit him. Once he found a set of gloves that would suit him and donned them, he offered his arm to Shinko. 

Accepting his arm, Shinko allowed herself to be led between the cages where falcons and hawks stood on wooden perches. Most of the birds slept but some stirred, fierce eyes alert as sentries, as they passed. 

One of the stirring falcons, a peregrine whose gleaming feathers testified to ideal health and breeding, cawed as they approached her cage, and Roald grinned. Stepping up to her cage, he opened the door and held out his gloved hand for her to leap onto. She did, her talons closing lightly over the leather covering his wrist. 

“This is Niamh.” Roald’s grin grew into a smile as he stroked the falcon’s white with ink speckles breast. “She was a Midwinter gift from Lord Imrah.” 

“A very generous gift.” Shinko wasn’t shocked at the scale of Lord Imrah’s present, because she had learned that while the man’s eyes were sharp as a hawk’s and his face as craggy as Yamani mountains, he had a waiting kindness about him, a tender heart that belied the gruff exterior. He had a keen mind for strategy, but he also embraced the parts of the Tortallan Code of Chivalry that Shinko admired when they didn’t lead to the fatal farce of jousting at tournaments. Roald was very fortunate in his knightmaster, she thought. “She’s magnificent.” 

“Magnificent and affectionate,” agreed Roald as Niamh nuzzled at his fingers with her beak. 

“May I?” Shinko made a petting motion. 

“Of course, Shinko.” Roald nodded, and Shinko ran soft fingers through Niamh’s sleek feathers. “She’s friendly as long as you aren’t a dove or other prey.” 

Glancing over his shoulder at Haname, who had left a larger gap than usual between herself and those she chaperoned and whose pallor did not come entirely from the rice powder on her cheeks, he added, “I assure you, Lady Haname, she only strikes at my command. She won’t hurt you.” 

“I don’t doubt you have her well-trained, Your Highness.” Haname bowed her head but maintained her cautious distance from Niamh’s powerful beak and talons. “Still, I will respect her by giving her space.” 

“Whatever makes you comfortable, my lady.” Roald seemed to sense that Niamh still scared Haname, for with a final farewell stroke, he restored his falcon to her cage, locking the door behind her. 

She cried in protest at being confined so soon but stilled when Roald stuck his hand through the iron bars and rested it soothingly over her beak. When he released her, she flew to her perch with a flicker of black-and-white checkered wings. 

As Shinko and Roald spun on their heels to begin the walk out of the mews, Shinko, arms entwined with Roald’s once again, asked, “Did I ever tell you what happened to my imperial uncle’s favorite falcon Aimi when he took her on hunting, Roald?” 

“No.” Roald shook his head. “I’d love to hear the story.” 

“Would you?” Shinko waved her hand in delicate question. “It doesn’t have a happy ending.” 

“Don’t leave me in suspense, Shinko.” Roald tapped her on the nose with a glove that smelled of falcon. “Happy ending or not, if you ask if I’ve heard a story and I haven’t, you have to tell it to me if I express interest. Otherwise, you aren’t being fair by all the rules of polite conversation.” 

“You’ve worn me down like water on stone.” Shinko’s eyes crinkled with humor but she sobered as she went on, “My imperial uncle and a party of his most exalted nobles rode out hunting in the mountains. At the end of his hunt, my imperial uncle was thirsty, so he dismounted by a stream trickling through the rocks to fill his canteen with water. When he filled it, Aimi swooped through the air and knocked it out of his grasp before he could lift it to his lips. Of course, my imperial uncle was furious and would’ve had the head off any man who committed such an assault against his revered personage, but my imperial uncle had a soft heart toward that favored falcon. Disposed to treat her with grace, he decided she was thirsty after her hunt and deserved a drink, so he wouldn’t begrudge her it. He scolded her and refilled his canteen. As he was about to place it against his lips, can you guess what happened?” 

“The falcon flew down to push it out of his lips.” Roald, captivated by the spell of her story, stopped to stare at her. 

“Exactly.” Shinko nodded, her wave of black hair bobbing behind her. “She knocked it from his hands a second time. My imperial uncle rebuked her most severely but granted her the mercy of warning her that he’d never tolerate such insolence from her again. Then he filled his canteen for a third time, and, for a third time, Aimi defied him, knocking the water away from him before he could drink. Enraged by her disobedience, he beheaded her with a swift swing of his sword. They say she didn’t even have time to sing a protest.” 

“I could never kill Niamh.” Roald glanced back at his beloved bird and then frowned at Shinko. “Why did your uncle’s falcon disobey him? She must’ve been marvelously trained if she was his favorite bird.” 

“She was well-tamed, but she remained a wild thing at heart.” Shinko’s forehead furrowed slightly. “Maybe that’s why my imperial uncle loved her so much.” 

“If he loved her, he wouldn’t have killed her.” Roald’s mouth thinned. 

“When he raised his sword against her, he must’ve thought that she wouldn’t have revolted against him if she loved him.” Shinko fiddled with her fan. “He waited until her third defiance to slay her. Many men would beg in vain to receive such mercy from an emperor.” 

“Men know when they’re being disloyal and what the consequences are,” Roald spoke softly but firmly. “Falcons don’t.” 

“Perhaps my imperial uncle’s Aimi did.” Shinko shot her husband-to-be a meaningful look to ensure that she had his entire attention before finishing in a hushed tone, “When my imperial uncle had slain her, he saw that the trickle through the rocks had run dry. He climbed higher to fill his canteen where the stream was broader and beheld a poisonous snake tainting the water.” 

“So she saved his life.” Roald’s jaw clenched. “And he killed her for it.” 

“Loyalty kills, Roald. She willingly sacrificed herself for him.” Shinko hesitated and then questioned quietly, “What lesson do you think my imperial uncle learned from this?” 

“To not strike at anyone, especially a friend, in anger without thinking.” Roald was explaining what a man of his placid, just temperament would learn from such a situation, not what her quick to perceive offense uncle would. “To trust that when a friend seems to be betraying you, the friend remains faithful but is acting according to knowledge you lack. To believe that when a friend is most frustrating you, that friend still has your best interests in mind.” 

“That’s what you’d learn, Roald.” Gazing up at him, Shinko thought that was why she fell in love with him more every day. “It’s not what my imperial uncle learned.” 

“What did he learn, Shinko?” Roald arched an eyebrow. 

“Don’t waste your heart on a wild thing,” Shinko replied in an almost whisper. 

“Lucky for me you aren’t a wild thing.” Roald hugged her against his chest and laid feather-light kisses on her forehead. 

“I feel wild when I’m with you.” Shinko had barely spoken the words before Roald’s lips were landing against hers, and the wings in her heart soared.


End file.
